


Counts His Nectars

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkwardness, Comeplay, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, I really have no excuses, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mission Fic, Oral Sex, Reincarnation themes, Size Kink, Sleepy Sex, Sort of? - Freeform, discussions of somnophilia, oh look an actual discussion of safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: My addition to the Bottom!Harry Fest.Themed chapters -Humour: Harry is a little shit and it leads to office sex.AU: Theatre AU with massive (hah) amounts of size kinkDrama: Obligatory "Harry comes back from a mission messed up and uses sex to cope" ficFluff: Harry and Merlin wake up in the middle of the night and have sleepy sexFree-for-all: Omega-verse where Harry gets drugged on a mission and goes into heat





	1. Week One - Humour

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bottom!Harry Fest, because apparently I have no chill. Not betaed or Brit-picked.
> 
> Title is from the poem by Emily Dickinson "Come Slowly - Eden!"
> 
> Come slowly – Eden!  
> Lips unused to Thee –  
> Bashful – sip thy Jessamines –  
> As the fainting Bee – 
> 
> Reaching late his flower,  
> Round her chamber hums –  
> Counts his nectars –  
> Enters – and is lost in Balms.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry surprises Merlin in his office.

Merlin wakes up with a crick in his neck, a stiff back, and a slightly painful line where his glasses have been pushing into his face all night. He straightens up, lifting his head from where it had been cradled by his forearms and squinting blearily at his surroundings, until he realizes that he’s still at Kingsman, a set of blueprints that he doesn’t really remember drawing, but that appear to be for an update to the Rainmaker to turn the underside into a heads-up display, spread out across his desk where he has, apparently, fallen asleep.

A cup of coffee is set by his elbow, and he looks up into the beaming face of Harry Hart. “Good morning, Merlin.”

Merlin reaches for the coffee and eyes it suspiciously, because Harry is absolute shit at brewing coffee. Then he decides it doesn’t matter and downs half the cup in one go, pulling a face because yes, it really is that bad.

Harry laughs. “I was a bit worried when you didn’t come home last night,” he says, “but Alistair let me know you’d fallen asleep in here.”

“Of course, Alistair couldn’t have woken me up so I could _go home_ ,” Merlin grumbles. Harry’s smile widens in amusement.

“I’ll let him know for next time, although I don’t blame him one bit. You’re rather grumpy when you’ve just woken up.”

“I am not!”

“You threatened to shoot me once when I woke you up before seven. Pointed a gun at me and everything.”

“Yes, because it was my day off, and I was trying to sleep.”

“Darling, I had my mouth around your cock. That hardly warrants a gun in the face.”

Merlin glances around reflexively, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Soundproof office, cameras off, doors closed. I know how you feel about being out at work.”

“Right,” Merlin says. He forces himself to relax. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, darling,” Harry says. “It’s a valid concern.” He sits on the corner of Merlin’s desk and puts one foot on his partner’s chair between his spread thighs. He glances down, head tilted and eyes glittering in the way that sends off danger signals in the back of Merlin’s mind, “Although…”

“Whatever you’re thinking about suggesting, the answer is no.”

Harry slides down from the desk, kneeling in front of Merlin, and the image is enough to send all of Merlin’s blood racing south. Harry places his hands on Merlin’s knees, then moves them up, stopping just shy of where Merlin’s trousers are starting to become a bit tight. “You haven’t even heard what I was going to say,” Harry blinks up at Merlin with that stupidly charming faux-innocent look on his face.

“You’re on your knees between my legs, Harry, I think I might have an idea where this is going. And my door is not locked, so I’d suggest getting up before someone comes in and sees you.”

“Actually, I locked it on my way in,” Harry says casually. His fingers knead gently at Merlin’s thighs.

Merlin closes his eyes and fights to control his breathing. Harry, never one for being ignored, demands Merlin’s attention by scooting closer and pressing his lips against the bulge in Merlin’s trousers, breathing wet heat against it.

Merlin’s eyes fly open and his hand gets a grip in Harry’s hair, dragging him backwards. Harry struggles playfully against his grip, a smirk on his lips. Merlin tightens his fingers, “Harry. Stop it.”

Harry pauses. Genuine concern flashes across his face as he evaluates Merlin. Then he says, “Darling, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop, I promise.”

There’s sincerity in his eyes and his voice, and Merlin completely believes him. But his throat runs dry and closes up, and he glances towards the door again.

Harry takes his silence and runs with it. “Or,” he drawls, the smirk reappearing, “I could take you out of those terribly tight trousers, slide your gorgeous cock all the way down my throat, and choke on it, just the way you like.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Merlin manages, and uses his grip on Harry’s hair to haul him up for a bruising kiss. Harry grins into it, knowing he’s won, and his hands go to Merlin’s zipper. The moment he’s got it undone, Merlin shoves him back to his knees so hard the thud echoes on the tiles.

Harry is careful when he pulls Merlin’s cock free from his pants, and he presses a playful kiss to the head, messy and sloppy with lots of tongue teasing at his slit, like he intends to make out with it, but Merlin gives a gentle tug of warning on Harry’s hair, and Harry takes his meaning and sucks Merlin’s cock into his mouth. Merlin groans as Harry tests himself with a few shallow bobs of his head, adjusting to Merlin’s considerable girth, and then has to bite down on the knuckles of his free hand to keep from shouting when Harry relaxes his throat and takes as much as he can. He can never quite manage it all on the first try, but he’s nothing if not persistent, and on the second slide his nose presses into the curls at the base of Merlin’s cock and he holds himself there.

His jaw is slack, and he’s not bothering to swallow yet, so the saliva is starting to dribble out and slide down his chin, and when he pulls off it’s with a slick pop. His voice is just a tiny bit rough when he reminds Merlin, “Soundproof office, darling. Let me hear you, please?”

When he goes back down, Merlin obliges him, not bothering to muffle the loud groan, and Harry rewards him by taking him deep and humming around his length, the vibrations running up through Merlin’s body and dragging him deliciously close to the edge without pulling him over.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” Merlin breathes. “Christ, I should just make you stay here all day. Keep you under my desk with my cock in your mouth. You’d hate being gagged, not being able to talk, but it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it, because you can’t resist sucking my cock.”

Harry moans in appreciation at that thought, and Merlin drags him off his cock. Harry whines, but Merlin uses his free hand to run his thumb along Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry gets the message and parts them, looking up at Merlin expectantly. Merlin stands, pushing the chair back, and feeds Harry his cock, pressing halfway in before drawing back, and holding Harry in place when he goes to chase after. It takes a moment for Harry to settle back, but when he does Merlin fucks into his mouth, rewarding him for staying still with deeper and deeper strokes each time.

Well, rewarding him is a stretch, because this is as much for Merlin as it is for Harry. Each slide gets him farther down Harry’s throat, and Harry gags a bit when Merlin shortens the time between thrusts, not letting him breathe. It makes his throat flutter around Merlin’s cock, and it feels so, _so_ good.

Because he can, because he knows Harry can take it, he gives one sharper thrust, and Harry chokes, and _oh_ , that’s perfect.

He almost misses it when Harry undoes his own trousers, shoving his hand desperately inside and stroking himself hard and fast. Merlin hesitates, pulling back, and Harry frowns up at him, his hand stilling, but Merlin cups his chin gently and says, “You have two choices, love. We can either keep going like this, and you can make me come and swallow every drop and get yourself off…”

“Or?” Harry asks, and Christ, Merlin loves his voice like that, low and raspy and thoroughly abused.

“Or,” Merlin says, “you can show me where exactly in my desk you hid the lube – and don’t deny it, because I know you – and I can fuck you.”

Harry looks legitimately torn. “Can’t I have both?” he asks.

“We have time for one,” Merlin tells him. “Then I have to brief Tristian on his upcoming mission. Choose, Harry, or I get myself off and you have to watch.”

“Is that supposed to be a punishment?” Harry quips, but they both know perfectly well that for him, it is. They’re separated enough as it is, and while having to do this over the coms isn’t bad, when Harry can physically have Merlin, he will always choose that.

He pulls himself to his feet, Merlin releasing his grip on Harry’s hair and taking a moment to appreciate his partner like this: trousers tented obscenely and his normally perfectly tousled hair thoroughly mussed. Without a word, Harry runs his finger along the underside of Merlin’s desk, and a little compartment pops out.

“Good choice,” Merlin grins.

Harry sweeps his hand across Merlin’s desk, knocking the blueprints, as well as the mug of coffee, several writing implements, and a prototype for a new grenade (thankfully not armed), to the floor, hopping up and spreading his legs, guiding Merlin between them.

“I should whip your arse for that,” Merlin tells him without any heat, hitching one of Harry’s legs up around his waist and grinding forward.

Harry’s breath catches as Merlin’s bare cock slides against his clothed one, but he manages, “I don’t think we have time for that, darling, but by all means, when we get home.”

Merlin kisses him to shut him up. One of these days, he really needs to gag that smart mouth properly. Harry lifts his hips helpfully when Merlin shoves his trousers and pants off, but he’s less helpful in letting Merlin pull away enough to prep him, clinging to his neck like a limpet and kissing him enthusiastically. It takes a little prying for Merlin to make space between them, and Harry makes a noise of complaint right up until Merlin slides one slick finger inside him up to the second knuckle.

Harry keens and stops complaining. Well, he stops complaining about that and replaces it with, “More, please darling, give me another.”

“God, I love it when you beg,” Merlin murmurs, pushing in a second finger and scissoring them. Harry’s always a strange combination of loose and just the right side of tight, the muscles stretching easily at the familiar intrusion, his hole practically sucking Merlin’s fingers in.

“Come on, Merlin, please,” Harry seizes on Merlin’s admission. “Need you so badly. Want you to fuck me, please.”

Merlin adds a third finger. Harry’s hand is slippery with sweat on the back of his neck, and he’s panting hard. “Almost there,” Merlin tells him soothingly. His cock aches, heavy and throbbing between his legs, but patience has always been Merlin’s virtue.

It has never been Harry’s. When Merlin adds a fourth finger, Harry says, “No.” Before Merlin can react, Harry has a hand tight around Merlin’s wrist, dragging his fingers out of Harry. His other hand is slick with lube when he grips Merlin’s cock, and that alone is enough to make Merlin stagger forward before he catches himself, and Harry shifts on the desk and shoves his hips back, catching the head of Merlin’s cock against his rim and forcing it in. Merlin gasps out and grips Harry’s hips tightly, holding him still when Harry tries to get him deeper.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” Merlin hisses between clenched teeth. “You need it so fucking badly that you can’t wait the extra minute-“

“No, I fucking can’t,” Harry responds. “You’re the one who said we were on a time limit.” He clenches down, hard, and Merlin’s hips stutter forward without his okay, sinking in another few centimetres. Harry moans with satisfaction, and Merlin gives in and shoves in to the root, wasting no time before he sets up a brutal rhythm, pounding harshly into Harry, who writhes against it, wrapping his legs tight around Merlin’s waist and begging for more.

“Come on, darling, harder, you know I can take it. That, oh fuck, so good, don’t stop!”

Merlin’s not sure he could stop if he tried. He shoves Harry, uses his grip on him to adjust the angle, and then it’s perfect, and Harry’s cries become incoherent, less distinct words and more loud moans that Merlin’s dearly hopes the soundproofing can cover, but he’s too far gone to care too much because it only takes a few more strokes to come, buried deep inside Harry’s arse.

When he comes down from the high, it’s to Harry, still squirming against him, his cock still flushed and hard. Merlin whispers an apology and pulls out carefully before bending over Harry, hands braced on the desk, and takes his cock into his mouth.

Harry gasps, back arching up, and scrabbles for the far edge of the desk, his mouth hanging open and his eyes shut as Merlin goes down on him. He’s close enough that it takes less than a minute to come, and Merlin swallows every drop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he pulls away.

Harry doesn’t move from his spot, spread out on Merlin’s desk and looking rather like a lovely pin-up calendar. “Alright,” Merlin murmurs, nudging him gently. “Up you get.”

“No, I can’t,” Harry says. “You fucked me too well, darling. I’m afraid I can’t move.”

“You’re a dramatic little shit, and you absolutely can,” Merlin counters affectionately.

He goes to manhandle Harry upright, but his partner grabs at his forearm, and his voice is a tiny bit desperate when he says, “No!” Merlin freezes, and Harry squirms, “It’s going to leak out, darling, I can’t-“ He struggles for words, and Merlin takes pity on him.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s alright. What do you want to do?”

Harry blushes, “Ah, in my office, there’s a locked drawer?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows, but Harry lifts his chin and meets his gaze dead on. “You want me to go to your office and bring you back a sex toy?” Merlin asks incredulously.

“If you’d be so kind.”

“I do a lot of ridiculous shit for you, you know that?” Merlin tells him.

Harry smiles and blows him a kiss, “The red one, please.”

Merlin can’t meet anyone’s eyes on his way back to his office, the plug carefully hidden in the compartment in his clipboard (not what he intended that function for, but hey, he’ll take it). When he gets back, Harry is in the same position, shivering as globs of Merlin’s come leak out of him, and Merlin carefully pushes them back inside and then pressed the plug in with almost no resistance. Harry sighs in relief, and sits up, pressing a kiss first to Merlin’s lips, then to his forehead.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, and his voice is still a little rough from having Merlin’s cock down his throat, but somehow that visual doesn’t cancel out the sweetness of his words.

“Yes, I’m a saint for putting up with you,” Merlin says. “Now put your trousers on. I have that meeting with Tristan any moment now.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry winks at him and dresses efficiently, while Merlin uses the time to tidy up the mess Harry made of his desk, picking up the various items off the floor and returning them to their rightful places. When Harry goes to leave, Merlin catches him by the elbow and presses one last kiss to his lips.

“This is not going to become a habit,” he says pointedly.

“Of course not,” Harry agrees, but his eyes are sparkling again, and Merlin resists the urge to groan in frustration.

He sees Harry to the door, opening it just in time to see Tristan raise his hand to knock. The older knight blinks, “Galahad.”

“Tristan,” Harry inclines his head. “Terribly sorry my meeting with Merlin ran so long. He’s all yours now.” He strides past him, and Tristan frowns.

He glances back at Merlin, “Do you think Galahad’s coming down with a cold? His voice sounds a bit rough today.”

Merlin chokes on his tongue and coughs.

Tristan’s frown deepens, “Seems it’s contagious.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Merlin manages. “Now, if you’ll step into my office?”


	2. Week Two - AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is a long-suffering costume designer. The source of his suffering? Harry Hart, an eccentric actor who has more than a few surprises for Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theatre people please don't murder me! I'm aware I play a bit fast and loose with how the theatre works. Also, this is the long chapter. Seriously, out of all the one-shots I've done for this fest (which you'll get in the upcoming weeks), this one turned into a bit of a monster. I'm actually considering doing more in this universe, so later I might take it out of this fic and make it its own little series, but we'll see.
> 
> Blame MHMooney for putting the theatre and reincarnation ideas in my head.
> 
> Still not betaed or Brit-picked, so if there's any problems, let me know.

Merlin looks up at the sound of footsteps. Hidden as he is, down here in the depths of the theatre, he doesn’t generally get many visitors. Except, of course, those who have been sent to him.

He recognizes the boy hovering in his doorway, a lovely young man who had initially introduced himself, stuttering slightly, as “Eggsy, fuck I mean Gary.” Merlin had raised an eyebrow, asking which one it was, to which the answer had been “Eggsy to my mates, but that probably ain’t professional, right?”

Merlin’s response had been to offer out a hand and say, “Hamish Grey. But my friends call me Merlin. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eggsy.”

It had been, too. Eggsy’s one of the best assistants he’s ever had. He came as a recommendation from Roxy, and by extension Alistair, who backs absolutely every suggestion Roxy ever has - that’s nepotism in the theatre industry for you. But it had been a good suggestion nonetheless. Eggsy, like Merlin, is interested in a bit of everything having to do with the theatre, spending his little slivers of free time lurking around the lighting technicians, set designers, and hanging out with Roxy and the other choreographers as much as possible, and as such he’s picked up a lot of handy skills, but, also like Merlin, his talent really lies here in Merlin’s dungeon. Officially speaking, he’s only really the assistant to Merlin’s assistants, but Merlin trusts him with his work a hell of a lot more than he trusts any of the others. First chance he gets, he’s going to promote him, regardless of what Chester thinks about it.

“Eggsy,” Merlin says by way of greeting when the boy doesn’t immediately launch into whatever he’s come down to say. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” He should be topside today; they’re heading into dress rehearsals, and while Merlin should technically be there to watch and take notes on last minute adjustments, he’s a bit busy finishing up the designs for one of the trickier outfits, one he’d had to redo completely when they’d realized the lighting was all wrong for the colour, and so Eggsy had been there in his place.

“He’s complaining about his costume again,” Eggsy says.

Merlin doesn’t need to ask to know exactly who Eggsy is referring to, and he lets out a long groan of frustration. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Wish I was, bruv,” Eggsy says. “It’s hell to listen to him whine about it. I know actors are supposed to be drama queens, but he really takes the cake, don’t he?”

“He takes the whole damn bakery,” Merlin mutters to himself. He pushes his glasses up his nose and sighs, “What is it this time? Trousers too tight? Wrong type of stitch in the hem? Bloody sleeves aren’t puffy enough to fit his ego?”

“Apparently the waistcoat buttons are too small.”

“The buttons are too small.”

Eggsy shrugged, “He gave this whole big speech about how the buttons being done up or undone in different scenes is _so_ important to his character that the audience absolutely has to be able to see them. And you know how Chester likes to make us work. He don’t like Harry, but if Harry’s keeping us busy, then all the better for him, so long as we’s done by opening night.”

And isn’t that the truth? Merlin sighs again, “Is he coming down here? Or do I have to go up to deal with his royal highness?”

“He said he’ll be down when rehearsal is over to talk to you about it.”

Merlin checks his watch, “That’s, what, thirty minutes?”

“Give or take.”

“Alright, then,” Merlin nods towards the doorway. “If that was all…?” At Eggsy’s affirmative nod, he says, “Go up and finish taking your notes, and then you can take off. I’ll look at them tomorrow.”

Eggsy lights up at the suggestion, because it means he won’t be spending the night locked in the dungeon with Merlin like usual, “You really mean-?”

“It’s your sister’s birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go be with your family, Eggsy. No need to keep you down here tonight while I entertain Harry Hart and his brilliant ideas.”

“Merlin, you’re the guv’nor,” Eggsy tells him. He practically skips from the room. Merlin can’t help the small smile that graces his lips. He likes Eggsy a great deal, and there’s no doubt the lad’s going places. Merlin knows that Eggsy works an extra job on the side, using the money to help support his family, but the theatre is his passion. It’s not the most lucrative career path, however, so if Merlin sees that his pay is a little higher and his hours a little shorter than average, well, it’s not like Merlin has a family to go home to. He can afford a little extra work.

Just over half an hour later, a knock sounds on his door. Merlin slides the finished sketches into an envelope with the appropriate colour swatches to give to Amelia on the way out. He treasures the last few seconds of peace before the knock sounds again, not impatient but just as steady as the first time.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door opens to Harry Hart, as expected, out of his costume and into his street clothes, but the waistcoat Eggsy had mentioned is draped over his forearm carefully. “Hello, Merlin,” Harry says cheerfully.

“Eggsy said you had an issue with the buttons on your waistcoat,” Merlin says without preamble. “What exactly seems to be the trouble?”

Harry offers it out to Merlin, “They’re too small. I feel the audience should-”

“Be able to see them, yes I know.” He’s not going to ask why Harry thinks it’s so important; he’ll only get a long-winded answer that he’ll tune out half of anyway. “Did you have an idea of what size would be adequate? Because it really is getting late to keep adding changes to your wardrobe.” He manages to keep the words pointed, just shy of truly rude.

“I’ll leave it up to you,” Harry says, irritatingly. “After all, you’re the expert.”

“It’s nice to know you value my opinion so highly,” Merlin says sarcastically. “I really appreciate it.”

Harry frowns, “There’s no need to get huffy.”

“You’re right, no reason at all. It’s not as if I’ve got a sodding primadonna questioning my choices at every turn, constantly having me go back and redo all of my hard work, acting like he knows best when he’s not the one who fucking trained for this.”

Harry blinks, his mouth dropping open, and Merlin quietly has a heart attack because he’s just told off one of the actors. Admittedly, Chester’s least favourite actor, but still. If Harry decides to quit because a lowly costume designer snapped at him, Merlin is going to be out of a job. Possibly for the foreseeable future, because Chester has a lot of strings he can pull and nobody in this industry likes to piss him off.

But before Merlin can apologize, Harry says, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to blink in surprise, because Harry actually looks guilty. He’s clutching the waistcoat to his chest, his shoulders hunching in on themselves. Quietly, Harry says, “I suppose, in hindsight, it was foolish of me not to realize I was just creating more work for you, and I do see how it might have come across as me undermining you. Your designs really are lovely, and I can’t actually find much fault with them. I’m terribly sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“What?” Merlin asks, sure he didn’t hear right.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats. “I won’t do it again.” He gestures vaguely with the waistcoat, “This is fine, really. I’ll just go hang it up with the rest of my costume. I’m terribly sorry for wasting your time.” He turns to go.

“Wait.” The word is out of Merlin’s mouth without his permission, and Harry pauses and looks back. Merlin swallows hard, “If there’s nothing wrong with my work, then why do you keep complaining about it?”

Harry flushes and studies his feet, “Because I rather like talking to you, and saying there was something wrong with my costume was the only excuse I could think of to come down here.”

Merlin doesn’t know whether to be flattered or furious. Slowly, he says, “Let me get this straight. Rather than catching me on my lunch break or on my way home, you thought that the only way to talk to me was to insult my work and make my job more difficult. All because you, what, wanted to make a new friend?”

“Actually, I was rather hoping to take you out,” Harry says. “Although, given your reaction, I’m starting to think I really have been going about it the wrong way.”

“You think?” Merlin says dryly.

“So that’s a no, then?”

Merlin can’t believe he’s actually considering this, but it’s been awhile since he’s had a date, and Harry’s not exactly hard on the eyes. Besides, if it ends up going badly, Merlin spends most of his time in his dungeon anyway, so avoiding Harry would be a snap.

“It’s a maybe,” he says. “Even without you tormenting me, my schedule is packed until the show starts, and then I know you’ll be busy most nights for the next few months while it’s running.”

“But maybe after?” Harry perks up like a damn puppy dog. “When the show is over?”

“I’ll think about it,” Merlin says.

And he does. He thinks about it while he gets Amelia and the others in his department to finish up the final touches on all the costumes. He thinks about it when he goes to opening night, admiring his team’s handiwork and privately admitting to himself that many of Harry’s subtle alterations were actually good calls. He thinks about it throughout the show’s run, the three months where he pops in and out, fixing up things where required but also starting in on sketches for Chester’s next show with Eggsy, promoted directly to his assistant, by his side.

And when Harry pops down to his dungeon on closing night, after the cast has taken their final bow, still in his costume and makeup, and asks, “So, about that date…?” Merlin decides to stop thinking and do something about it.

“I’m free Friday night.”

“What a coincidence,” Harry grins. “So am I. Shall I pick you up, or-?”

Merlin scribbles the address of one of his favourite restaurants on a piece of sketch paper and tears it off, handing it to Harry. “How about we meet here. Say, eight o’clock?” At least if the date is a flop, the food will be good.

“I’ll see you there,” Harry says. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me. As brilliant as your work is, I really am desperate to get out of it.”

“Go on then,” Merlin shoos him towards the door with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“It’s a date.”

Merlin shows up fifteen minutes before eight on Friday night, his leather jacket pulled tight across his shoulders to keep out the cold weather brewing, to see that Harry is already waiting. He’s wearing a suit jacket over a grey V-neck that looks incredibly soft and shows off his collarbones, and there’s a blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He looks good. He looks _really_ good.

“You’re early,” Merlin tells him when he approaches.

Harry whips around and lights up, but his voice is casual when he says, “Yes, well, I didn’t want to miss my window.”

Harry Hart, according to everyone Merlin has ever spoken to, is notorious for showing up just barely on time at best, and often several minutes late. That he actually put in the effort to arrive early for their date is several points in his favour.

Over dinner, Merlin discovers that Harry is a good deal more charming when he’s not being an actor. He’s more talkative than Merlin is, but Merlin isn’t particularly bothered by that. He’s not much of a talker in general, and he’s interested in what Harry has to say.

“You collect butterflies?” Merlin asks in surprise.

“Before I wanted to join the theatre I was rather interested in lepidoptery. I wanted to be a lepidopterist.” Harry says, and Merlin can’t tell if he really is that serious about it or if Harry’s just using that word to show off. Harry spears a piece of his dessert, a rich chocolate cake, with his fork and continues, “Perhaps in another life I will be.”

“You believe in reincarnation?”

“Don’t you?” Harry asks, like it’s the most common thing in the world.

Merlin shrugs, “I don’t really know what to believe. I’m not really religious.” His parents were, but Merlin doesn’t think about that if he can avoid it. “And anyhow, I think living in the present is more important than worrying about what might happen after you die.”

“But that’s the brilliant thing about reincarnation!” Harry says, leaning forward. His eyes are sparkling, and Merlin decides he’s very cute when he’s passionate. “After you die, you just get to live again! You get to do everything over.”

“But what’s the point if you don’t remember it?”

“The point is the rebirth,” Harry says. “Even if your brain doesn’t remember it, your spirit does. It’s a constant cycle of new life. That’s what I love about acting; each time I get up on stage it's like being born all over again.”

Merlin can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, “I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never much been one for the limelight.”

Harry leans back and takes a sip of his wine, “So what about you, then?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve spent the entire evening talking about myself. Now I want to know about you. Why are you called Merlin? What’s your real name? Why costume design?” He laughs, “Favourite colour. Everything. I want to know everything.”

Merlin isn’t used to being asked about himself, so it takes him a moment to respond, “My real name is Hamish.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

Merlin shrugs, “It could be worse. Merlin’s a nickname I picked up in university. I was a bit of a wizard with computers when they were first coming out, or so I was told. It just sort of stuck.”

“Did you do computer work for fun, or…?”

“No, actually I was going to be a programmer,” Merlin says. “It wasn’t such a glamourous job back then, of course. A good deal harder and a lot less mainstream. I went to school, got the degree, got a job, and you know what I found out?”

“That you hated it?”

“I didn’t hate it,” Merlin says. “It was worse than that; I was _bored_.”

Harry tilts his head, “How is that worse?”

“Because if I hated it, at least I’d have a good excuse to quit. I didn’t mind the work, it was just dull. But it wasn’t bad enough that I could see myself leaving. There wasn’t anything else I wanted to do.”

“So how did you quit?” Harry asks. “How did you go from Merlin Grey, computer wizard, to Merlin Grey, costume designer?”

“It wasn't really a conscious choice,” Merlin admits. “I've always liked the theatre. My...childhood wasn't great, and whenever I could I'd sneak out. I got into plays any way I could. Sometimes, when I didn't have enough money for a ticket, I’d offer to usher, or I'd sneak in the back when no one was looking. It was the perfect escape from reality.” Merlin pauses, considering. “I never really thought I could turn it into a career. It was just something I liked. But then, I was an adult and I was bored with my job, and I started going to plays again. Alistair is actually an old friend. I knew his partner, James, back when he did some work with my old company.” While Alistair works behind the scenes, lighting his area of expertise, James is one of their part-time actors, charming people on the stage when he’s not busy doing it in marketing.

Merlin continues, “I came to see a few of their shows, and one day James mentioned he was working with a smaller company, tiny really. They were looking for volunteers, and he asked if I had any interest in helping out. So I did. Did a little bit of everything, and all in my free time, but I fell in love with costuming. I quit my job, took some training courses, and never looked back. Been in costuming for nearly two decades now, and I’ve loved every minute of it.”

“But why costumes?” Harry asks. “What about it was so alluring?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Harry says, “I'm trying to figure you out. And I must say, I'm having a hell of a time with it. There are so many layers. I look forward to peeling them all off.” The last comment is downright filthy, not because of his tone but because of the way Harry fucking licks his fork as he says it. Merlin might have put it down to a coincidence if Harry wasn't also clearly making bedroom eyes at him.

Merlin clears his throat and looks at his lap, ignoring the rush of heat that imagery sends through his body. “It makes me feel powerful,” he admits. This isn’t something he’s ever voiced to anyone before. “I know it sounds stupid, but working in costuming...it’s like I’m turning a person into someone or something else. I know it’s a group effort, the costumes and the makeup and obviously the actors, but...I don’t know, I’m not explaining this right.”

“The clothes make the man,” Harry supplies. Merlin looks up at him in surprise, and Harry is smiling. “I’ve always found it easier to get into character when I’m dressed to look the part. Whether on the stage, or in everyday life.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, “Play a lot of characters in your everyday life?”

Harry nods, “Oh, yes. Sometimes I dress up in a suit and I play Harry Hart, actor and gentleman of the theatre. Or else I put on one of those ungodly Christmas sweaters and I play Harry Hart, doting son who will not mention to anyone that he’s gay and risk spoiling the holidays. We all play different characters in different scenarios, with different people.”

“And now?” Merlin asks. His gaze flicks over Harry again, the blazer and the V-neck and the scarf. “Who are you playing right now?”

Harry leans forward and lowers his voice, “Right now, I’m playing Harry Hart, who is on his first date in perhaps longer than he’d care to admit, and is very much looking to impress the gorgeous man sitting opposite him, and possibly even take him to bed.”

Merlin blinks, and then snags the waiter’s attention, “Could we please get the check?”

Harry beams.

They make it out onto the street, the chilly night air starting to nip at them as Merlin goes to wave down a taxi, only to find himself dragged backwards into an alley and pressed up against the wall.

Harry’s mouth tastes like chocolate when his tongue presses insistently past Merlin’s lips, and once he’s over his initial surprise, Merlin responds in kind. Harry slides a hand between them, an impressive feat considering he’s using his entire body to keep Merlin pressed against the bricks, and finds his crotch, cupping at the growing bulge in Merlin’s trousers.

“Fuck,” Merlin pants out eloquently.

“You have no idea how badly I want you,” Harry hisses against his lips. The fingers of his other hand are bunched up in the lapel of Merlin's leather jacket, as if to keep him in place.

The hand on Merlin’s erection presses down firmly, and Merlin manages to gasp, “I think I might have a clue.”

“I don’t normally do this on the first date, but please tell me you’re interested in fucking me.”

Like an idiot, the first thing that Merlin says is, “No.”

Harry pulls back, a frown on his lips, and Merlin rushes out, “I mean, not here. Fuck, I want to, but not here.”

“My place, then?”

“God yes.”

Harry drags Merlin out of the alleyway by the hand and flags down a cab, shoving Merlin into the backseat. He climbs in after, straddling Merlin’s lap rather than taking his own seat, and tells the driver the address, adding, “And I’ll pay you double if you hurry.” Then he latches back onto Merlin, kissing him like he's drowning.

When he grinds down in Merlin's lap, he lets out a satisfied groan against his lips, “Fuck. I don't know what you're hiding down those trousers, but it feels fucking massive.”

Merlin has no idea what to say to that. He’s had a few boyfriends before, and most have commented on the size of his cock, but it’s not exactly a turn-on for most of them. The fact that Harry sounds rather enthusiastic about it is kind of throwing him for a loop.

Fortunately, Harry doesn’t seem to expect an answer. The cab pulls to a stop outside a very posh row of flats, and Merlin would be intimidated if it weren’t for the fact that Harry doesn’t give him enough time, practically throwing the money at the driver and dragging him out into the street. He shoves Merlin up against a door (to his own house, Merlin hopes), and then he’s actually working a hand into Merlin’s trousers, his fingers curling around Merlin’s erection and squeezing. “You’re going to fucking tear me in half with this thing.”

That is...not actually arousing. Merlin is almost relieved when Harry pulls away to fumble with his keys, getting the door open and pushing Merlin through it. “My bedroom’s upstairs,” Harry tells him. “And I suggest you hurry, because otherwise I’m going to ride you right here on the floor.”

Merlin winces and takes a step back. He’s still hard, but this isn’t going exactly the way he imagined, and he needs a moment.

Harry takes one look at his face and completely wilts. He slumps against the wall and buries his face in his hands, “I’ve made this weird, haven’t I?”

“No!” Merlin protests. Harry peeks at him from between his fingers, and Merlin hesitates, “Alright, maybe, but that’s not the word I would use.”

“Fuck.” Harry does drop his hands, but he doesn’t look at Merlin. “This is why I don’t do things like this. Taking someone home on the first date...it looks desperate to begin with, and then when it’s someone I actually like, someone I want to see again, I get weird and I ruin it.”

Merlin takes a step forward, reaching out and cupping Harry’s cheek, “Harry, look at me.”

He lifts his chin, and there’s fear and sorrow watering in his eyes, so Merlin makes sure his voice is especially gentle when he says, “You haven’t ruined it.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t. Yes, some of the things you were saying were...well...” Harry blushes, and Merlin smiles, “But I’m still here. So how about, instead of going straight up to your bedroom, we have a cup of coffee and maybe talk for a bit, and then we’ll see where we are.”

“I’d like that,” Harry says.

While Harry goes to make coffee, Merlin steps into the bathroom to splash some water on his face and calm his body, which still hasn’t quite gotten the memo that he’s not about to have sex, down. He almost forgets about it the moment he closes the door and takes a look at the room, because that is actually very creepy. At least his erection is no longer a problem.

He manages to ignore the way the dead dog (Mr. Pickle, according to the plaque) is clearly staring at him, and when he steps out again, he calls to Harry, “You weren’t kidding about being interested in butterflies.” Harry had said he collected them, but knowing it is one thing, and being presented with it like this is something else entirely.

Harry comes back with two mugs and looks between the open bathroom door and Merlin. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Sorry.”

“About what?”

Harry gestures to the bathroom with one mug, “I’ve been told it’s off-putting. Especially Mr. Pickle.”

“As long as the rest of your house isn’t covered in dead bugs, I think we’ll be alright.”

“No, it’s just the one room,” Harry reassures him.

They settle in the living room. While the design isn’t much more tasteful - several tacky statuettes of various kinds litter the shelves - it is free from taxidermy. Merlin takes the cup of coffee Harry offers him. “You know, in terms of hidden layers, I think you have me beat.”

It does the job, prompting a laugh from Harry, although a slightly forced one. “Yes, I imagine you weren’t exactly expecting...well, any of this when you agreed to go out with me.”

“No, I was not,” Merlin agrees. That self-deprecating look flickers across Harry’s face again, and Merlin says, “That’s not a bad thing, Harry. Just...surprising.”

Harry stirs his coffee, staring down at the swirling liquid. “I really do like you,” he says quietly. “You’re easy to talk to, and that isn’t something I find every day.”

Merlin frowns in confusion, “What are you talking about? You talk to everyone. A lot.”

“I told you,” Harry says. “It’s like acting. Playing roles. There are plenty of people I can talk to, but there aren’t many that I feel I can really be myself around. Somehow, you're different. I...I enjoyed our evening, and I let my guard down around you. It was nice. Until…”

“Until you started talking like something out of a fisting porno,” Merlin finishes.

Harry turns bright red and refuses to meet Merlin’s eyes. “I really am sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Merlin says.

“But I am. I got a bit carried away, and I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying and-”

Merlin interrupts him, “Is that something you’re interested in?”

Harry pauses, “What, fisting?”

Merlin gives half a shrug, and it’s a bit awkward because he’s never sat down and had a conversation like this before, but Harry is turning out to be a lot of firsts for him. “Just...generally. The...size kink stuff.”

There are several seconds of silence before Harry admits, “It’s something I’ve…dabbled in. It’s not exactly a necessity for me to enjoy sex, but when given the opportunity…” He glances at Merlin out of the corner of his eye, “Are you telling me you’ve never had a partner who-?”

“No, I don’t date many size queens,” Merlin says. “Actually, I don’t date much at all. Or do one-night stands. And I definitely don’t go home with someone on the first date. So it doesn’t usually come up until after I’ve been seeing someone a while, and by that point...well, let’s just say I’ve had partners who didn’t see it as worth breaking up over, but who wouldn’t have sex with me if I was topping.”

“That’s a crying shame.”

Merlin shrugs again, “It never really bothered me that much. And it was better than being treated as a fetish piece.” Merlin has been clubbing exactly once in his life, when he was much younger, and a very handsy young man had felt him up and promptly dragged him into the bathroom. He hadn’t been able to shut up about using Merlin’s cock, and less than a minute into the encounter Merlin had backed out, feeling uncomfortable and rather like an inanimate object.

Harry looks guilty. Hesitantly, he asks, “I didn’t...I didn’t make you feel like that, did I? Because I swear-”

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Merlin doesn’t continue until Harry looks up at him. “Did you know, before you asked me out, that I was going to be…”

“Well hung?” Harry supplies. “No, I did not. Nor did I have a clue until after dinner, when I...well, when I got a bit carried away.”

“Then it’s alright. You had no way of knowing, and you asked me out anyway. You were interested in me as a person, not just as a cock to use.”

Harry’s nose wrinkles up, “Dear lord, have people really said that to you?”

“Once or twice.” Merlin said he didn’t date _many_ size queens, not that he hadn’t dated any.

“I would have taken you home regardless, you know,” Harry says. “You are an unfairly attractive man, and you have a sexy brain and a gorgeous personality to boot. Knowing you’re rather well-endowed is just a bonus.”

“And what if I hadn’t been interested in having sex tonight?” Merlin asks. “What if I hadn’t wanted to come home with you?”

“Then I would have asked if and when I could see you again,” Harry says. “And probably gone home, gotten off far too quickly using my hand, and been relieved that at least I didn’t make a complete fool of myself, dragging you home with me on the first date.”

Merlin laughs, “We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we?”

“I’d say one of us is a bit more so than the other,” Harry says.

“For the record,” Merlin tells him, “if you’d asked, I would have given you a second date.”

Harry smiles, and it’s surprisingly bashful. “And now?”

“Now, I’m thinking that if you’re still interested, maybe we can make tomorrow morning our second date.”

Harry’s smile turns from bashful to bright, “Really?”

Merlin gives him a playful grin, “Well, if we’re going to make the terrible decision of sleeping together on the first date, we might as well follow through.”

“Do you really think it’s a terrible decision?”

Merlin shrugs, “Only one way of knowing.” He sets his coffee mug on the table, “Bedroom was upstairs, you said?”

Harry practically leaps to his feet, “I’ll show you.”

The decor in Harry’s bedroom, thank god, is much less hideous than the rest of the house. He has a couple of generic landscape paintings and a photo of what Merlin assumes to be his family on the nightstand. The bed itself is huge and covered with more pillows than any single man could possibly need. When Merlin raises an eyebrow, Harry says defensively, “I like to be comfortable. Is that a crime?”

Merlin toes his shoes off and settles on the bed. The mattress really is comfortable, and when he scoots backwards he sinks into the fluffy mound of pillows. “I think I’m starting to appreciate it.” He holds his hand out, beckoning Harry over, “I’d appreciate it a lot more if you joined me.”

Harry settles in Merlin’s lap, straddling his thighs. Unlike before, he’s shy now, like he’s afraid of scaring Merlin away again. Merlin strokes his fingers gently through Harry’s hair, and the other man leans into the touch. “Let’s just take this slow, yeah?” Merlin murmurs. “There’s no rush.”

“There’s no rush,” Harry echoes. He carefully slides his hands under Merlin’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, “You know, I’m almost sorry to take this off you. You do look very good in leather.”

“Maybe, if you’re very good, we can leave it on next time,” Merlin suggests, surprising himself that he’s already thinking about a ‘next time.’

Harry catches it too, because he smiles softly. “Well then,” he says, “I have a great deal of incentive to be good, then.” He rocks his hips down in a lazy grind, and Merlin’s cock starts to wake up again.

Merlin unwinds Harry’s scarf, “This would look gorgeous wrapped around your wrists.”

Harry’s eyes darken, but he plucks it from Merlin’s hands and drops it next to the bed, “Another night.”

They go slow, taking turns undressing each other. Merlin nibbles on Harry’s exposed collarbone before he tugs Harry’s shirt over his head, and the hint of teeth makes Harry arch in his lap and let out a harsh, breathy sound. He repays it by nosing along Merlin’s jaw line, finding that spot just below his ear that makes him shudder when Harry kisses it.

Harry fucking purrs when he gets Merlin’s shirt off, “Now, this just isn’t fair.” He traces the tattoos down Merlin’s chest, gentle fingers fluttering over the Celtic knotwork, tweaking a nipple as they skate past. His hands slide lower, running appreciatively over his abs. “If I’d known you were hiding all this under those jumpers, I wouldn’t have been able to focus at all during dinner. How on earth is someone who sews for a living so fit?”

“Exercise,” Merlin manages. “And you know perfectly well that I don’t just sew.”

“Do you really want to get into a debate about the specifics of your profession, or would you like to take my trousers off?”

Under other circumstances, Merlin would actually love to debate the specifics of his profession. Circumstances that did not involve a shirtless Harry Hart in his lap, grinning and teasing him with little grinds of his hips.

So, in answer, Merlin undoes the button on Harry's trousers. Harry shimmies backwards, peeling himself out of them and his pants so he’s completely naked. Merlin takes the initiative to do the same, and then Harry climbs back into his lap. His hand is hesitant when he reaches down, so Merlin takes it and wraps it around his cock, because he hadn’t actually minded the boldness, and he doesn’t want Harry to be skittish about this.

Harry shivers and flexes his fingers, straining them slightly, but he can’t quite get them to connect. He glances up to meet Merlin’s eyes, and his pupils are completely blown. He bites his lip, “I don’t want to make this weird, but you are still planning on fucking me, correct?”

Merlin laughs. He leans forward and draws Harry’s lower lip between his teeth, scraping them along it before letting go and giving him a proper kiss. Harry still tastes a little bit like chocolate, but he tastes even more like coffee, and Merlin devours him, claiming Harry’s mouth, and both of Harry’s hands come up to clutch desperately at his shoulders before one winds itself around the back of his neck. When they break apart, Merlin murmurs, “Not weird. Where do you keep the lube?”

“Nightstand,” Harry says. “Top drawer.”

“Condoms?”

Harry considers for a moment. “None that will fit you. Is that going to be an issue?”

At that, Merlin pauses. He hasn’t kept a condom in his wallet in years. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

Harry’s smile is a tiny bit sad. “For what it’s worth, the last time I got tested I was clean, and I haven’t had sex since. But it was over a year ago.”

“Same for me,” Merlin says. Silence stretches between them. Harry’s fingers stroke absently over the skin at the base of Merlin’s neck.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asks eventually.

“You don’t go around shooting drugs or helping gunshot victims in your free time, do you?”

Harry laughs, “No, I should say not.”

“Then I think we’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Merlin nods. He nudges Harry off him, guiding him so he’s the one lying back against the pillows, and then he fetches the lube from the drawer, exactly where Harry said it would be.

Harry spreads his legs obligingly so Merlin can settle between them. He can’t help but run an appreciative hand up Harry’s calf, over the arch of his knee. Harry may have been impressed with Merlin’s abs, but Harry has the solidly muscular legs of a runner.

Merlin clicks open the cap of the lube and pours a generous dollop over his fingers. “Relax for me,” he murmurs, and Harry does, enough so that the first finger goes in with almost no resistance. Harry’s fists curl in the bedspread, and he lets out a clipped sigh. “Easy,” Merlin says soothingly.

“Can I have another, please?” Harry’s voice sounds strained.

“Well,” Merlin teases, “since you asked so nicely.” He slides the first one out and replaces it with two, scissoring them apart and crooking them as he moves them in and out, spreading Harry open and searching for the place inside him that will make him see stars.

He finds it, and Harry cries out, his eyes squeezing shut, his hand flying down to clamp tightly around Merlin’s wrist. He shakes his head, or perhaps he’s just thrashing against the pillows, but it’s enough to give Merlin pause, “Harry?”

It takes a moment, but eventually the response comes: “I am on edge as it is, and I’d prefer to come with your cock inside me, if it’s all the same to you.”

Merlin nearly laughs, and as it is he can’t help but smile at how fucking proper Harry’s words are, even when it’s clear he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm. He looks forward to attempting to change that, but for now he shifts his fingers so they’re no longer pressing against Harry’s prostate, although he continues to stretch him.

On the third finger, Harry asks, “Do you think you could come up here and kiss me?”

It’s such a nice request that Merlin can’t help but obey, changing position so that he’s hovering over Harry. He presses a soft kiss to his lips, “Like this?”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “Just like that.”

Merlin gives him a few more soft, lingering kisses, and he adds a fourth finger. One of Harry’s hands comes to grip at his shoulder again, the nails digging in, “Christ, I want you in me.”

“Not yet.” Merlin’s not about to hurt Harry, and he’s not ready just yet.

Harry snorts, “I’m a size queen, not a masochist.” He considers, “Well, actually…”

Merlin laughs. “Another night,” he reminds him. God, it’s been ages since he’s laughed this much during sex.

“Another night,” Harry agrees. Merlin spreads out his fingers as wide as he can, and Harry gasps. “Shit. Shit, Merlin, please.” He pauses, “Wait, should I be calling you Hamish, or-”

“Merlin is fine.”

“Merlin, if you’d be so kind as to get your cock in me before I die, I would very much appreciate it.”

Chuckling, Merlin withdraws his fingers. He goes to add another squirt of lube to his palm, but Harry sits up and holds out his hands, “Allow me.” Merlin passes it to him, and Harry uses both hands to slick his cock until it’s absolutely dripping.

Merlin fights not to buck into the massage of Harry’s hands. “How do you want to do this?”

Harry considers, “I think like this is fine. Unless me riding you is an option?”

“Let’s start with this,” Merlin says. He guides Harry back again, and then grips his erection and lines it up with Harry’s hole. Even with four fingers of prep, Merlin has to push hard to get it in, and Harry’s nails dig sharply into his forearm when the head forces its way past his rim.

“Okay?” Merlin asks.

“Okay,” Harry says. His voice is high, and it’s less a word than a keen. “It’s just...just been a while.”

“Slow,” Merlin reminds both Harry and himself.

Harry nods, “No rush.”

Every centimetre is torture for Merlin. Harry is hot and tight and he’s dripping with lube and the animal part of Merlin’s brain wants to slam home and pound him into the mattress. But he won’t. He’s not about to hurt Harry. It’s strange; while he hasn’t been cruel to his other partners, and safety was always a priority in bed, it’s never been as strong an instinct as it is with Harry.

It’s a relief when he bottoms out, his balls flush against Harry’s arse, and not just because Harry releases his arm from the death grip, red crescent marks etched into his flesh. Harry shudders against him, around him. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Merlin echoes, his voice deep and rough to his ears.

Harry cradles the back of his neck again and brings him down for a slow, burning kiss. He wraps his strong legs around Merlin’s waist, and whispers against his lips, “You feel so good inside me.”

“You feel fucking amazing,” Merlin whispers back. He wants to thrust so badly, his hips grinding forward minutely, as if trying to get even deeper, but he’s not sure if Harry’s ready yet and-

“If you don’t move, I think I might actually die.”

Merlin wishes he could come back with a joke, but all he can do is pull out until only the tip of his cock is still inside Harry, and then slam back in again. Harry cries out, the hand on Merlin’s neck clawing down his back. Merlin starts a fast pace, fucking sharply into him with each thrust, the headboard of the bed thundering against the wall.

“Shit,” Harry curses. His head is tipped back against the pillows, his eyes closed and his fingernails still scratching at Merlin’s back. “Oh fuck.” Then Merlin gives a particularly hard thrust, screwing his hips slightly, his cock glancing across Harry’s prostate, and it’s like the floodgates have opened. “Jesus Christ, fuck me harder. So fucking big, dear lord, I can practically feel you in my _throat_. Wasn’t even sure it was, ah, it was going to fucking fit, but it feels so, oh _fuck_ , do that again, feels so fucking good. I think I’m going to die, no, fuck, I think I’m already dead, this must be fucking heaven, _Jesus Christ_ no one’s fucked me this well in years.”

For all that it was a turn-off earlier, Merlin doesn’t mind Harry’s babbling. If anything, it just makes him thrust harder, faster, groaning in pleasure as he chases his orgasm. Harry keeps fucking _clenching_ around his cock, as if he needed to be any tighter, and Merlin can’t get enough of it.

Neither, apparently, can Harry. He begs, “Need you to come in me, please, need to you to fill me up, Christ, please, Merlin, please. Feels so good, want to make you feel so good, need you to, _oh_ , need you to come. You’re so fucking big, _Christ_ , bet you could use me and stuff your fucking fist up my arse afterwards, I’d be so loose.” Merlin reaches between them, wraps a hand around Harry’s cock, bright red and leaking, and he doesn’t really have to stroke because each thrust shoves Harry’s cock into his fist, and Harry’s voice takes on an even higher pitch, “Oh god. Oh god, I’m going to fucking come, _shit_ , Merlin, please, oh, oh, _oh_.” Harry’s face screws up, and he erupts over Merlin’s hand. He clenches down, hard, around Merlin, and Merlin fucks Harry through his orgasm, his strokes slowing and gentling gradually until he’s barely moving. He wants to come so, _so_ badly, but after that Harry’s bound to be sensitive, and Merlin doesn’t want to hurt him.

When he gets himself together enough, Harry squints at him, “You’re not stopping, are you?”

“No, I just-” He’s cut short when Harry arches back against him, and he groans instead.

“I can feel you throbbing inside me,” Harry murmurs. “You must be aching to come.”

He is, and Merlin gives a tentative thrust. Harry makes a sound like he's purring, relaxing back against the pillows, and he’s pliant as Merlin’s thrusts pick back up again. It doesn’t take Merlin long to come, and although he’s silent through it, Harry lets out a soft moan.

Merlin pulls out, falling back on the bed next to Harry and blinking the haze away. As he starts to come down from his high, he realizes Harry is mouthing something, his eyes half-closed, a lazy grin on his face.

Merlin turns on his side, “What are you saying?”

Harry’s lips twist into an almost embarrassed smile, but he repeats himself. “Then the conceit of this inconsistent stay set you most rich in youth before my sight, where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, to change your day of youth to sullied night; And all in war with Time for love of you, as he takes from you, I engraft you new.”

“Shakespeare?”

Harry nods. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he says regretfully. “Reciting poetry after sex. I don’t normally, I was just thinking about it and…”

“It’s not weird,” Merlin tells him. “Admittedly, I’ve never had a lover who did it before, but I don’t think it’s all that strange. Or, at least, it’s strange in a good way.” He can’t help but tease, “No stranger than telling me you think you’ve died and gone to heaven during sex.”

Harry throws an arm across his face, “Jesus Christ. Did I really?”

“Do you always say shit like that during sex?”

“So I’ve been told. I don’t usually think about it in the moment. In case you’re wondering, more than one partner has walked out on me in the middle because of something I’ve said.”

“That’s a crying shame,” Merlin parrots Harry’s words from earlier. “I suppose that means you’re not actually interested in me fisting you now?”

Harry groans in embarrassment at the joke, “Please kill me now.”

Merlin laughs, “It’s not that bad. Certainly not enough to make me walk out on you.”

“So, you’ll stay, then?”

“I’ll stay,” Merlin says. He sits up, “Do you have a bathroom up here? I don’t much fancy waking up sticky.”

Harry gestures to one of the doors, “Through there.”

Merlin gets up and comes back with a damp flannel. He wipes Harry off, the other man allowing Merlin to manhandle him, and then cleans himself. He tosses it in the hamper to deal with later and then climbs back into bed with Harry.

“After tomorrow,” Harry asks, “are we going to see each other again?”

“I don’t see why not,” Merlin says. “We do work for the same person, more or less.”

“No.” Harry turns on his side to face Merlin, “I mean, will I see you again like this. Like…”

“Like, would I be interested in going out with you again?” Merlin prompts. At Harry’s nod, he says, “I thought I made it clear that the answer was yes.”

“Good,” Harry says. “I can’t explain it, but there’s something about you that feels...it feels like home.” A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face, “But that sounds silly, doesn’t it.”

It really doesn’t, because it puts to words something Merlin hadn’t been able to vocalize. “Maybe we were lovers in a past life,” he suggests.

“I thought you didn’t believe in reincarnation.”

“Then in another universe, or...something,” Merlin shrugs. “I’m open minded.” He tugs Harry to him, tucking him against his chest. “Now go to sleep. Some of us have work to do tomorrow.”

“Surely not,” Harry says in horror. “It’s a Saturday, and the show is over.”

“The show is over for you,” Merlin says. “I have to work on the next one.”

“There goes my plans to keep you in bed all weekend.”

“I could be convinced to work from home.”

It’s not until he’s halfway to sleep that Merlin realizes he’s called Harry’s house home. Under other circumstances, after the first date that would worry him. But those circumstances don’t involve Harry Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two little shits would not let me get on with the sex scene. I'm serious, there are three distinct points (some more easily identified than others) where they were supposed to do it, and every time they veered away from it. Brownie points to anyone who can figure out all three.
> 
> The poem Harry's talking about is Shakespeare's Sonnet 15, which from what I understand is about the passage of time taking away beauty but that things are beautiful because you remember them being so, and the cycle of life and beauty and stuff. It's also one of the ones he wrote for a man. The full sonnet is:
> 
> When I consider every thing that grows   
> Holds in perfection but a little moment,  
> That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows  
> Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;   
> When I perceive that men as plants increase,   
> Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,   
> Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,   
> And wear their brave state out of memory;   
> Then the conceit of this inconstant stay   
> Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,   
> Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,   
> To change your day of youth to sullied night;  
> And all in war with Time for love of you,   
> As he takes from you, I engraft you new.


	3. Week Three - Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's last mission was rough. Merlin tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no actual dub-con in this, there are some similar elements, predominately a reference to Harry initiating sex in an unsafe way. If that's an issue, I advise not reading this chapter. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy. I characterize Harry a bit differently in this one.

Merlin can feel Harry hovering behind his chair well before the silent agent makes his presence known with a subtle cough to get Merlin’s attention. He’s busy, though, working on getting Percival through a difficult extraction in Madrid, so he doesn’t acknowledge his partner’s skulking.

It’s only when Harry puts his hands on the back of Merlin’s chair, clearly about to drag it away from the desk, that Merlin silences the coms and says, “Not at work, Harry.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to know Harry is pouting. He turns the coms back on, “Take a left in 200 meters, Percival, you’re almost there.”

It takes about five more minutes before Merlin has Percival bundled off for home. He turns off the monitor and swivels to look at his partner. Harry is, in fact, pouting, leaning against the closed door with his arms folded across his chest. He’s freshly back from a mission of his own, one in Istanbul, although Merlin’s not sure about the details, because one of the other handlers had been in charge. It’s most likely why Harry’s in his office; he has a tendency to get a bit clingy, especially after missions that keep them apart both in distance and over the coms.

“You’re a full-grown man, Harry, not a five-year-old,” Merlin tells him in response to his expression.

Now that Merlin is facing him, his legs no longer tucked under the desk, Harry approaches Merlin and in one fluid motion drapes himself across the wizard’s lap, balancing on Merlin’s legs and the tiny chair with the same grace he uses to cross clotheslines when running across rooftops. Before he can loop his arms around Merlin’s neck, Merlin tips forward just enough to knock Harry to the floor. It doesn’t hurt him; Harry knows how to fall safely, and anyway it’s less than two feet to the ground. That’s nothing for a man who routinely, and much to Merlin’s exasperation, jumps out of fourth story windows.

“What’s my rule?” Merlin asks him.

Sprawled on the floor, Harry glares up at him. Merlin lifts an eyebrow, and Harry huffs. “Not at work.” Harry hates that rule, but Merlin is firm; at work, they have to be professional, and, among other things, that means physical contact in general should be kept to a minimum. Certainly, it means that climbing into Merlin’s lap and clinging to him like a koala is not an option. Harry picks himself up, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket with an air of ruffled dignity.

Merlin takes pity on him, “I’m almost done here. Go home. I’ll be there soon.”

“Promise?” Harry asks. There’s a strange twist to his voice that has Merlin frowning.

“I promise,” he says, because as much as he wants to ask Harry what’s wrong, this really is pressing, and he needs to finish it up.

It takes him another hour before Merlin can leave the office, but he’s out of there the moment they no longer need him, and when he makes it through the front door of the house he shares with Harry and into the living room, he sees Harry curled up on the sofa, half asleep and blinking lazily at him through glassy eyes.  It’s worse than Merlin thought, and immediately he feels guilty for dismissing Harry earlier. In front of others, Harry tends to hide how much missions affect him, but tucked away in the safety of their home, his true feelings always shine through. And Harry only gets like this when things have gone really, really badly.

Merlin silently toes out of his shoes and settles in the armchair by the fireplace. Harry stirs, and then he drags himself up off the sofa and deposits himself in Merlin’s lap, curling up with his head tucked against Merlin’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around his neck.

Merlin strokes his hair, long fingers carding through the silky locks in the way that never ceases to make Harry go boneless. “Bad day?” he asks carefully.

“The mission could have gone better,” Harry admits, like it’s being dragged out of him with plyers. “I prefer it when you’re my handler.”

“So do I,” Merlin says. For better or for worse, he always prefers it when Harry’s safety is in his hands. More than that, he likes _knowing_ , likes seeing what Harry sees so he can help him in whatever way Harry needs. It’s a bit of a long shot, but he asks, “What happened?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry says, and Merlin expected that answer anyway. Harry doesn’t like to talk about his missions after they’re over. He likes to forget the details, locking them behind the _Sun_ cover he puts in his office, and acknowledge only the good his actions have caused. He doesn’t like to talk about the cost.

Harry shifts in his lap, an incredible feat for a man that’s over six feet tall and crammed into a tiny armchair with his equally tall partner, and he doesn’t even knee Merlin in the stomach when he settles again, this time straddling Merlin. Harry leans his forehead against Merlin’s. “What matters,” he says softly, “is that you’re here with me now.”

Merlin accepts the kiss that Harry presses to his lips, first gentle and searching but then shifting to hungry and full of heat. He lets Harry’s hand slide down his chest, untucking his shirt from his trousers and slipping under it to find skin, his hands just shy of too cold. He wraps an arm around Harry, palm pressed flat against the small of his back to help him keep his balance. Not that he needs help. Merlin’s seen Harry fire a pair of guns off the back of a moving motorcycle, using only his legs wrapped around the driver (James, who had promptly been dragged off by Alistair afterwards in one of the quiet man’s rare displays of possessiveness) for balance.

It’s only when Harry’s fingers go to Merlin’s belt that Merlin stops him with a hand on his wrist. Against Harry’s lips, he murmurs, “Why don’t we go to bed?”

Harry ignores that suggestion, pulling his arm out of Merlin’s gentle grip, and normally Merlin loves that Harry is more or less ambidextrous, but right now it means that his partner is sliding Merlin’s belt smoothly from his trousers while also fumbling with his own, and when Harry gets like this Merlin always gets a touch more concerned about the agent’s pushiness in bed. He physically covers Harry’s hand with his own broader one, “Harry. Look at me.”

When Harry obeys, his eyes are watering, and Merlin blinks in surprise. He wipes away the first tear that slides down Harry’s cheek with his thumb, “Oh, love. It’s alright.”

Harry’s cried in bed before. The first time it had happened, Harry had tried to hide it from him, pressing his face into the pillow for fear it’d be a turn-off. When Merlin had noticed, he’d panicked, pulling away and turning Harry on his back, asking if he was hurt, if Merlin had done something wrong, which had only made Harry cry harder. It had taken some effort for him to explain, words punctuated by little hiccups and a refusal to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“It’s not that you’re doing anything wrong,” his voice had barely been above a whisper. “It’s that you’re doing everything right.”

Merlin had been confused, until Harry explained that, while he’d had a lot of sex in his life, and most of it hadn’t been terrible, most of it hadn’t exactly been good either. The military wasn’t known for people asking, “Is this okay?” and calling him beautiful and holding him like he was something precious. It was clinical, distant, and to have Merlin do all those things, to treat him with reverence, like he was something special, was almost overwhelming. Harry is very in-touch with his emotions, probably more so than most of the other agents. So yes. He cries in bed sometimes. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

But after missions it’s a slightly different story. Merlin remembers a particularly bad one, a few years ago, where Harry had come home, pinned Merlin to the wall by his hips, and gone down on him until he was choking, well past the point of safety (which they both are acutely familiar with – Harry’s adventurous in bed and Merlin normally likes to oblige him as long as they’re careful about it), and Merlin actually had to sedate him to make him stop. Harry had woken up sobbing, tried to provoke Merlin into wrapping his hands around Harry’s throat and _hurting_ him, and when Merlin had resisted Harry had collapsed back on the bed and cried for hours before Merlin had gotten a word out of him. After that, Merlin is always a bit more cautious going into post-mission sex.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight,” he suggests. “Why don’t we go to bed and cuddle? Would you like that?”

Harry deliberates for a moment, and then shakes his head. “I want this,” he murmurs, his free hand coming up to thumb open the top button of Merlin’s shirt, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and placing a gentle kiss there. “Please, darling?”

“Alright,” Merlin relents, because at least Harry is calm and he’s clearly putting at least some thought into this. He guides Harry’s face away from his neck and presses a series of feather-light kisses on his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry responds. Merlin lets go of his hand, and Harry goes back to work on their trousers. He slides out of Merlin’s lap to take his off, along with his pants, and Merlin takes the opportunity to lift his hips and shove his to his knees. Harry clambers back on top of him, fumbling behind him under the cushion until he comes up with a little bottle. Merlin reaches for it, but Harry ignores him, tipping the contents out onto his own fingers and reaching back behind himself. Merlin leans back, watching (he’ll never get tired of watching), and reaches down to wrap a hand around his half-hard erection.

Harry bats it away without a word. He withdraws his fingers from himself and uses the leftover lube on them to slick Merlin’s cock in a few sharp strokes, twisting just how Merlin likes it to bring him to full hardness. He shifts forward, one hand braced on the back of the armchair, the other gripping Merlin’s cock to line it up with his entrance, forcing it inside him. He shudders gorgeously in Merlin’s arms when the head pops in, and Merlin can tell just by how tight he is that Harry didn’t prep himself enough for this.

The fact that Harry, usually very vocal in bed, is silent says volumes more.

He goes to drop down, a move Merlin recognizes from when Harry is desperate and impatient and wants all of Merlin inside him at once. Before he can do it, Merlin catches him by the hips and whispers into his ear, “Slowly.”

Harry let out a sob, not high pitched and desperate like he often gets, but quiet and deep and choked with emotion. “Hamish, please. Let me do this.”

The fact that he uses Merlin’s real name tells him how serious he is about this, but Merlin shakes his head, “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, Harry. You go slow, or we stop.”

Harry gives in without a fight, lets Merlin guide him down gently, his face screwed up and his eyes squeezed shut, trembling and letting tiny gasps escape his lips every so often as Merlin’s thick length sinks deeper inside him, forcing him open little by little. He pants when Merlin bottoms out, tucking his face into Merlin’s neck and mouthing absentmindedly at his pulse, alternating between kissing and sucking faint bruises into his skin.

“Talk to me, Harry,” Merlin says, because the silence is a little unnerving. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Harry’s crying again. Merlin can feel the tears seeping through his jumper to the button-down beneath, and he strokes a hand soothingly down Harry’s back. “I love you,” Harry whispers into Merlin’s neck. “I love you so fucking much.” He straightens up, his legs shaking slightly, and rocks experimentally in Merlin’s lap. Merlin lets him. When he’s satisfied he has control, Harry rises up a few centimetres and sinks back down, slow and calculated, and Merlin hisses out between clenched teeth because it feels so good.

“Say you love me,” Harry begs him, moving faster, his fingers clutching at handfuls of Merlin’s jumper as he begins to ride him properly. “Please darling, tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” Merlin says. The words are a little rough, his accent thickening as he struggles to focus on anything but the tight clench of Harry’s arse and the slick sound of skin as Harry bounces in his lap. “I love you, fuck, I love you so much.”

Harry throws his head back, and Merlin can tell he’s close because he shifts with each downward stroke until the angle changes and Merlin’s cock hits something inside him that makes him cry out. Merlin reaches between them and wraps his hand around Harry’s cock, stroking in counter-point to Harry’s thrusts, until Harry whimpers and comes.

He all but melts against Merlin, who gives him a moment before he pulls out, lifting Harry carefully off his cock. He kicks off his trousers so he doesn’t trip, and begins to carry Harry upstairs, cradling him in his arms bridal-style. Harry wraps his arms around Merlin’s neck and murmurs into his shoulder, “You didn’t come.”

“It’s okay,” Merlin says. His erection is already starting to subside, and Harry needs gentle affection a lot more than Merlin needs an orgasm right now.

“You should-“

Merlin cuts him off, “There’ll be time for that later. Do you want a bath, or would you like to go right to bed?”

“Bubble bath?”

“You used up the last of the bubble bath last week. I haven’t had time to run out and get more.” Merlin thinks about making a joke about Harry being a hedonist, but decides against it. The air between them is too heavy for that, and Merlin can’t tell exactly where Harry’s mind is right now. He doesn’t want to risk making anything worse.

“Bed, then,” Harry mumbles. He’s practically asleep as it is, so forgoing the bath is probably a good idea anyway.

Merlin sets him on the bed and finishes stripping him, pulling off his socks and shirt and folding them the way Harry always does before he goes to bed. Merlin’s own clothes get tossed on the floor for Harry to complain about tomorrow morning, as usual, and his lips quirk into a smile at the thought. He tucks Harry under the comforter, and Harry immediately reaches out, “Merlin?”

“I’m right here, love,” Merlin says, climbing in next to him. He presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’m here.”

There’s a moment of silence, where Merlin thinks Harry might have already fallen asleep, and then it’s broken when Harry, his voice thick with sleep or emotion or both, asks, “Can I be the big spoon tonight?”

Oh. it’s one of those nights. It makes sense. Merlin has spent years learning the little clues to Harry Hart, and as the pieces slot together he realizes that whatever happened on his mission, it must have scared Harry badly into thinking about losing this, losing Merlin. Harry likes to be held, prefers it even, but after some missions, where he comes a hair too close to death or where he goes just a little too dark, he needs to reaffirm that Merlin still loves him, that he’s still there, and it’s on those nights that he wants to be the one holding on.

“Of course.” Merlin turns on his side, and Harry latches onto him. His grip is tight, but he isn’t shaking anymore.

“I love you,” Harry whispers into his shoulder blades.

“I love you too,” Merlin says. He’ll say it as often as Harry needs to hear it. And then maybe another few times, because it’s true.


	4. Week Four - Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Merlin are woken up in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look at Merlin initiating sex for once. Also, while this is fully consensual, the sex is nonreciprocal and there are very vague discussions of somnophillia, and I know that can be an issue for some people.

“It's your turn,” Harry mumbles into the pillow when he hears the crash downstairs. “I got it last time.”

“You did not,” Merlin groans, pushing himself into a sitting position and fumbling for his glasses. He leans over Harry to get a look at the alarm clock, which informs them that it’s pushing two in the morning.

“Yes, I did,” Harry says. It’s probably not true; given that Harry’s the one who has to travel for work, Merlin’s home far more often than Harry is, and that means by default Merlin does the chores (whether it be washing the dishes or going downstairs in the middle of the night to investigate strange noises) a lot more often than Harry does.

Even so, Merlin doesn't fight Harry on it this time, sliding slowly out of bed and padding downstairs to investigate the source of the noise. Harry buries his face in the pillow again and tries to fall back asleep. He’s exhausted and sore in a variety of places, not all of them pleasant.

An indeterminant amount of time later, the bed dips as Merlin climbs back in. Harry cuddles back up to him, scooting backwards and reaching behind him to drag Merlin forward until his partner's chest is pressed against his back, and Merlin wraps an arm around Harry's waist at his prompting.

“Your dog is going to be the death of me,” Merlin informs him in a sleep-soft voice. Harry always thought Merlin’s accent sounded the best like this, quiet and rumbling and rough with sleep. “Something must have spooked him. He knocked over a lamp. Smart enough to keep away from the glass, though.”

“Did you clean it up?”

“Of course. Knowing you, you'd step on it in the morning and I'd be the one who had to take you to the hospital with glass shards in your foot, and that's really more hassle than I want to deal with tomorrow.”

“Nice to know you care.”

Merlin makes a little humming noise, and his hand tightens ever so slightly on Harry's hip. He presses forward, and Harry feels his partner’s half-hard cock rubbing gently against the cleft of his arse.

Harry gives a tiny huff of mock-complaint. “Really?” He squints over his shoulder, barely able to make out Merlin’s face in the dark. The bed is really too far from the window for any slivers of light to touch them, but there’s just enough glow that he can make out his partner’s grin. “You really want to have sex _now_?”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Merlin asks, ducking to press a row of kisses along Harry’s throat, and Harry tips his head back and lets him without protest, humming in satisfaction when Merlin narrows in on his pulse point, worrying at it with his teeth and sucking hard.

After a minute, when Merlin satisfies himself with the love bite he’s given Harry and leans back to admire it in the dim light, Harry mumbles, “I’m trying to sleep.” Merlin’s hips are still rubbing gently against Harry, his erection swelling to full hardness, and Harry’s words are belied by the way he rocks back just a tiny bit into it.

“So was I,” Merlin says. He catches Harry’s earlobe between his teeth, nibbling gently before releasing it. “And your dog woke me up. So I figure you owe me, and since I’m awake anyway…” He presses a little more firmly, his cock hot even through the layers of their pyjama trousers, and the reflexive part of Harry’s brain is hit with the urge to spread his legs.

Harry weighs the temptation of sex with Merlin against the desire to go back to sleep with his hazy, half-awake brain. He knows Merlin will drop it if he asks, but he’s not entirely adverse to the idea. “I really am tired, darling,” Harry says regretfully. “I’m not sure I’ll be much for participating.”

“That’s fine,” Merlin murmurs into his ear. His hand slides down the front of Harry’s trousers, gently cupping his soft cock. “I’m willing to do all the work.” He nips teasingly at Harry’s earlobe again, “That tends to be the normal state of things anyhow.”

“I do plenty of work in bed,” Harry objects without any conviction. He does take control...sometimes. Usually when he’s especially horny and Merlin is taking too long to do anything about it, in which case he likes to pin his partner down and ride him hard. But, admittedly, he usually does prefer it when Merlin does all of the physical work while Harry supplies a stream of dirty talk to rile him up. Still, Merlin’s never exactly complained about that. Well, he has. But he’s never serious about it. Harry thinks.

“Sure you do,” Merlin agrees, and Harry doesn’t have to see it to hear the eye roll his tone implies.

He tips his hips back so Merlin’s cock is pressed more firmly against him, “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Against his skin, Merlin’s lips curl into a triumphant smile, and the hand down Harry’s trousers stops toying with his cock, still mostly soft in spite of the attention, and shifts to his arse, the pad of his finger pressing at Harry’s hole, dipping in slightly. Harry’s still a bit loose from earlier, when Merlin had pinned him to the wall and utterly ravaged him. Post-mission sex is always good, but Harry’s favourite is when the mission lasts over a week because by the time Harry comes back, Merlin’s always a bit more desperate, and a bit more willing to be rough with him.

“Lube?” Merlin asks.

“Get it yourself,” Harry complains, but he flops out a hand until he makes contact with the nightstand, yanking open the drawer and rummaging around until he comes up with the bottle, which he passes to his partner.

Merlin tugs their clothes down just enough to expose Harry’s arse and his cock. He flicks open the lube with a soft click, then slicks his fingers and presses two inside Harry without preamble. They sink in with no resistance, so he adds a third, and the muscles gives way easily when he spreads them. Harry grumbles, “Just get your fucking cock inside me already.”

“I thought you were going to go back to sleep,” Merlin teases, but he withdraws the fingers and lines his erection up with Harry’s hole, easing inside.

Harry is, as always, grateful for his caution, because even when he’s at his most impatient, he recognizes that going too fast will definitely hurt. There’s always that brief moment, right before the head sinks past his rim, where Harry panics that he’s bitten off a bit more than he can chew, that Merlin’s too big, that his cock won’t actually fit inside Harry, but when he gets that first centimetre in it fades, replaced by the delicious stretch and the satisfactory feeling of fullness as Merlin slides deeper and deeper inside him. This time is no exception, and the fact that Harry’s still loose makes it easier than usual for Merlin to enter him in one long, slow stroke.

It’s not until Merlin settles with his hips flush against Harry’s arse, giving Harry a minute to adjust to the feeling, that Harry manages to find the cognition to respond. “Well, I was,” he says, “but I’m finding it rather difficult, given the monstrosity you’re trying to ram me with.”

“You are utterly ridiculous,” Merlin informs him, clearly fighting to keep the laugh out of his voice, “and you’re clearly exaggerating.”

“Only a bit, darling.” If he were more awake, he’d dredge up some long speech about how much he loves Merlin’s cock, thick and long and perfect for spreading Harry wide, but his brain isn’t really working so all he comes up with is, “I fucking love how big your cock is.”

It sounds like something out of a bad porno, and Harry’s almost relieved when Merlin gives a tiny thrust to shut him up, a little snap of his hips that’s more a grind than anything else. He shifts slightly behind Harry, changing the angle, and the next thrust rubs right up against Harry’s prostate, making him moan out in satisfaction, “Oh, do that again.”

Merlin does, and he sets a slow rocking motion, never drawing out more than a few centimetres before pressing back in, keeping his cock buried deep inside Harry and grinding against his prostate on every stroke, sending sparks skating up and down Harry’s spine.

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “You really are delightfully good at this.”

“I have to be,” Merlin says, his voice soft in spite of his brogue, like all the air has been pulled from his lungs, “my partner’s an insatiable cockslut, and I need to be able to satisfy him.”

“Need I remind you who initiated this?”

The next thrust is harder, although Merlin keeps the same slow pace, “This is entirely your fault. That damn dog-”

“Darling, I’ll kindly ask you not to discuss Mr. Pickle while your cock is up my arse.”

Merlin huffs out a laugh and falls silent, his thrusts starting to stutter as he gets close. Even with the lovely pressure against his prostate, Harry’s only half-hard. He considers doing something about it, but decides he’s too tired to bother. Instead, he arches back, clenching around his partner’s cock. He keeps his voice low, not wanting to break the quiet of the bedroom, when he says, “Come on, darling. I know you’re close. Want you to come in me.”

Merlin obeys the command, coming with barely a sound, just a soft sigh in Harry’s ear. He stills for a moment, his cock still pulsing gently inside Harry and then starting to soften. Another heartbeat later, and he reaches for Harry’s cock and asks, “Want me to take care of that?”

Harry shakes his head and pushes his hand away. “Not tonight, darling. I afraid I really am rather worn out. Make it up to me in the morning?” Lazy morning sex with Merlin is his favourite. Well. He actually says that about every kind of sex with Merlin. He can’t help it if his partner is a sex god. And the fact that Harry is hopelessly in love with him doesn’t help either.

“Alright,” Merlin murmurs.

He goes to pull out, but Harry reaches back and grasps at his hip, “Please don’t.”

Merlin hesitates, “You’re sure? I don’t want to hear you whining in the morning about feeling disgusting.”

“I’m sure,” Harry says. If he’s being honest, he probably will complain about it when he wakes up, but he’s half-asleep and he really likes the feeling of his partner’s soft cock still inside him, warm and comfortable, and the cost of that is for his morning self to pay. “Are you satisfied, then?” he asks. “Can I go to sleep now?”

“Aye,” Merlin says. “Now you can go to sleep.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and settles in behind him, arms wrapped tight around Harry’s waist. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Harry mumbles with just the tiniest hint of a smirk.

Silence falls between them, the steady sound of breathing the only whisper of noise in the room. Then, “Merlin?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Next time, don’t bother waking me up.”

Merlin shifts his grip so he can flick Harry gently when he admonishes, “I wasn’t the one who woke us up.”

“I know,” Harry says, biting his lip, “but if it’s ever the middle of the night and you do wake up, and I don’t…”

“It’s your dog, Harry, and I’ll thank you to do more to take care of it than occasionally take it for walks.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what-?”

“I mean, if you ever wake up and you’re feeling…” He clenches around Merlin’s soft cock to illustrate his point, and Merlin sucks in a sharp breath, still sensitive from his orgasm. “Don’t bother waking me up.”

Merlin is silent for a moment, processing that request. Then he says, “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Harry smiles in satisfaction and settles back down. It only takes a few moments before he’s back to sleep, wrapped safely in his partner’s warm embrace.


	5. Week Five - Free For All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets drugged on a mission and goes into heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the omega-verse chapter. Read with caution, because I know a lot of this stuff squicks people out. Also, look, Merlin calling Harry "my heart" is not something I use often but something very dear to my heart.

“Galahad, I _did not_ tell you to go that way,” Merlin snaps over the coms. “You need to go left.”

“I came in that way,” Harry reasons back, not even out of breath despite the pace he’s sprinting at. “They’ll be expecting me to go that way, won't they?”

“Who has access to the cameras, Galahad? Because it’s not you. You need to turn back, they’re waiting for you.”

“Oh, good. I love a good garden party.”

Merlin resists the urge to facepalm. He grits his teeth, watching the screen as Harry ducks around a corner, vaulting himself over a bench and sliding under a table as he makes his way out into the garden at top speed.

“They’re armed with dart guns, Harry. I can’t tell what’s in them, but I can tell you it won’t be pleasant if you get shot.”

“You worry too much,” Harry laughs, dodging as his opponents open fire on him and returning with several shots of his own. A half dozen of the shooters collapse to the ground. “Where’s my extraction team?”

“On the other side of the fucking building, Galahad. I’ve redirected them to your current location, but it’ll take a minute. You should be able to get over the wall and meet them, _if_ you can stop showing off for a minute.”

“Copy that,” Harry says, and beelines for the wall. He launches himself up at it, twisting and shooting back at the few men still on his tail. His fingers just barely close around the edge, and he rolls across the top, dropping back to the ground hard. “Shit.”

“Nothing broken?”

“I’ve fallen a lot farther a lot faster,” Harry says, as if Merlin didn't know. “Just didn’t stick the landing quite right. Knocked the wind out of me.”

Through Harry’s glasses, Merlin sees the extraction van skid around the corner. The door flies open, and Hengroen offers a hand out to Harry, “Get in.”

Harry takes it, collapsing into the back, and Llamrei floors it. The van takes off, and Merlin breathes a sigh of relief. “You know,” he admonishes, “this would have been a lot easier if you just listened to me. Please tell me you at least got the plans.”

“Ye of little faith,” Harry says. He pulls a flash drive from his pocket, holding it where Merlin can see it, and then handing it over to Hengroen to lock up and deliver to Merlin back at headquarters.

“Well done,” Merlin says. “Even if you were a disobedient little shit about it.”

Harry laughs, and his voice is a mixture of mirthful and appropriately contrite when he asks, “You’re not terribly cross with me, are you?”

“If I was there, you’d see just how cross with you I am.” There’s no real heat in the words. This is their song and dance; Merlin tells Harry to do something, and Harry does the opposite. It’s familiar, almost comforting.

“Well, I’ll be home soon, and then you can punish me properly.”

From the driver’s seat, Llamrei snorts, and Hengroen doesn’t bother to hold back his laugh. Merlin narrows his eyes, wishing Harry could see it somehow, “What have I said about flirting with me in front of our co-workers?”

Harry’s voice is too innocent when he replies, “That you don’t feel it’s appropriate that everyone at Kingsman know about our sex life? Or that you think it makes you look less threatening in front of the minions?”

Merlin closes his eyes to the sound of the extraction team snickering, until it abruptly cuts off and Hengroen asks, “Galahad? Sir?”

Merlin opens his eyes, and Harry’s glasses feed is tilted. “Harry?” he asks, “Are you alright? What happened?”

The feed shifts, and Harry’s fingers (shaking. They’re shaking, and that’s a bad sign for so many reasons) pluck a dart from his side. His voice is thick when he responds, “It looks like they managed to hit me.”

“Hengroen, I need you to do the standard field test on Galahad. See if you can figure out what he was dosed with, and what side effects it might have.”

Harry’s gaze shifts to Hengroen, who swallows hard and says, “I think I might have an idea to the second question, sir.”

Before Merlin can ask what exactly that means, Harry murmurs into the coms, “I feel very hot, darling. It’s too warm in here.”

“I think he’s going into heat.” Hengroen is already rummaging through the medical supplies.

Merlin blinks, “Not possible. Galahad is on heat blockers.”

“And I’m fairly certain whatever he was dosed with is overriding that. And fast.” He comes up with a shot, and jabs himself in the thigh. Llamrei is a beta, so she should be fine, but Hengroen is an alpha, and if Harry really is going into heat, then being with him in close quarters is a disaster waiting to happen.

Harry proves the theory further by whining, “I need you here, darling. I need…” His fingers clench reflexively against the metal floor of the van, and then his head is tipping back and Merlin is treated to a view of the ceiling.

Merlin swallows hard and recalibrates, “Llamrei, I need you to break a few speed limits getting to the jet, alright? Harry, just relax. We’ll get you home as fast as we can. Hengroen, we need that test. We need to see what kind of drug this is and if there are any worse side effects than overriding blockers.”

Harry squirms away when Hengroen moves towards him, “No! You’re not my alpha!”

“Harry,” Merlin says soothingly, “it’s alright. He’s just going to take a little blood. You do this all the time, it’s fine.”

“He smells wrong,” Harry whimpers. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Merlin murmurs, “I know. Let him do his work, and we can help you that much faster.”

Harry manages to hold still long enough for Hengroen to draw his blood and retreat, and then he curls in on himself. “He’s progressing fast,” Hengroen tells Merlin. “He’ll be in full heat within the hour.”

“Fuck,” Merlin murmurs. “Just get him home, fast as you can.”

“Copy that.” The coms go dead, but Merlin leaves up Harry’s feed, just in case.

They haven’t had the most conventional relationship at Kingsman. For years, Harry was not just on heat blockers, but suppressants as well, and he wore cologne designed to mimic alpha pheromones. It was the only way for an omega to get into first the army, then Kingsman, and Merlin had initially been a bit taken aback by his interest in the other man. He’d never been interested in alphas before, and while it wasn’t unheard of, it was still considered highly taboo. Still, he’d been willing to make an exception for Harry.

Then, of course, Harry had gotten himself into the medical wing and Merlin had seen his chart and learned that Harry Hart was in fact an omega. Harry had begged him to keep the secret, and Merlin had promised.

So when it got out that the two of them were a couple, people (read: Chester) had a few things to say.

It had gotten everyone off their back about their relationship when, years later, Harry finally came forward as an omega, but it had opened up a series of new problems for him. Merlin had fought resolutely for Harry to keep his status as Agent Galahad, and it wasn’t until Merlin pointed out that Harry was one of their best agents with the one of the highest success rates at Kingsman that Chester had grudgingly dropped the fight.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry had told him after. “You could have pulled me from the field, kept me safe.”

“I’m your alpha and your handler, Harry, not your jailer. You’re damn good at what you do, and I know you love it. I’m not about to take it away from you.” And that had been that. Merlin has never bought into the ‘alphas should be dominant and omegas should be submissive’ bullshit. He’d seen how that worked out for his parents, and he’d decided that that was never going to be him.

Of course, it also means that things like this occasionally happen when Harry’s in the field, and it takes a conscious effort for Merlin’s level head to override his alpha instincts.

Harry’s shuddering breathes bring him back to the present. “Harry? Talk to me, love.”

“It hurts,” Harry manages. “I need you to make it stop hurting.”

“I will, mo chridhe, I promise.”

“Soon?”

“Soon,” Merlin tells him. “Llamrei, how much farther to the plane?”

“Two minutes, and then about an hour before we touch down in England,” she says.

“Hear that, Harry?” Merlin says. “You’ll be home soon.” Not soon enough, but soon.

A separate, private com line pops up, and Merlin answers the feed. Quietly, so Harry can’t hear, Hengroen says, “The drug they shot him with is fairly standard. It’s mostly used as a neutralizer, alphas who want to make omegas a bit more pliant for them, mostly in trafficking circles, which is where I assume our friends got it from. Fast-acting, but otherwise no side effects that we know of.”

“How did they know Harry was an omega?” Merlin asks. “They didn’t even know he was coming. Why use that as a weapon?”

“It works on alphas as well,” Hengroen supplies. “Heat and rut blockers have the same chemical basis, more or less. And it’s laced with a relaxant. Mild effect, just enough to get them down but not out.”

“So, what’s that going to do to Harry?”

“Well,” Hengroen says, “he’s going into heat. We can’t stop that, and it’d be dangerous for him if we tried. He should be able to ride it out like any other heat.”

“What about the relaxant? Isn’t that going to make him less active?”

Hengroen hesitates, “I don’t…” He clears his throat, “Sir, it’s obviously not my place to ask about your relationship, and obviously I don’t know what Agent Galahad is normally like in heat, but…” He trails off awkwardly.

Merlin knows the stereotype about omegas in heat; legs spread, pliant, begging any alpha who got close enough to fuck them. Merlin also know from experience that the stereotype is a load of shit, at least where Harry is concerned, because his partner's favourite position, in heat and out, is pinning Merlin to the bed and riding him. To save himself, and Hengroen, any further embarrassment, he says, “When he gets back to headquarters, have him sent to the medical wing. Best if I don’t meet him getting off the plane.”

“Yes, sir.”

Merlin switches the coms back to Harry’s private channel, “Harry? I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

“I’m going into heat,” Harry mumbles, “I’m not brain-dead.”

It’s almost enough to make Merlin laugh. Almost. “When you touch down, they’re going to send you to medical. We won’t have enough time to get you home, so I’ll be waiting for you in one of the cycle rooms, alright?” They used to be referred to as “rut rooms,” the place in the medical wing where the (alpha) agents locked themselves in if something like this happened on a mission. Since Harry’s coming out, the name had been changed officially, although some of the agents hadn’t made the switch in their language.

“Good call,” Harry says. His voice is unfocused, but he manages, “What’s the question?”

“Do you want me to take something to cancel out my blockers?” They usually schedule it so their cycles are synced, given that regularly going off the blockers to flush out their systems is a requirement for using the drugs safely. Harry’s going to want a knot, badly, and if Merlin doesn’t take the shot to trigger the override, he’s not going to be able to give Harry one.

Harry’s silence is either good, if he’s thinking about it, or bad, if he’s too out of it already to respond. After a few terrifying heartbeats, it proves to be the former, because Harry says, “Those shots aren’t good for you.”

They’re really not. The blockers are designed to gradually go on and off them, and the shots that cancel them out often have unpleasant side effects after the fact. Merlin’s not looking forward to the hangover-like symptoms (headache, nausea, sensitivity to...well, just about everything), but if it’s something Harry needs, then he’ll do it. He says as much.

“You’re too good for me,” Harry murmurs. “My good alpha.”

“I need a straight answer, Harry. Yes or no?”

“Please,” Harry says softly. “I know...I know it’s selfish to ask, but I really...I really need you, darling.”

“It’s not selfish,” Merlin tells him, because Harry is a bit more sensitive in heat than he normally is and this isn’t going to be any easier on him if he starts sobbing. “You’re not selfish. You’re so good, such a good omega for me. I just want to make sure I take care of you properly.” The language rankles at Merlin’s normal rejection of traditional dynamics, but things are a little skewed right now. Harry purrs at the words, so Merlin knows he’s said the right thing.

Hengroen and Llamrei get Harry on the plane with a little coaxing from Merlin over the coms, the omega shying away from the touch of the alpha and beta. They eventually get him settled and sequestered in the cabin of the plane, curled up on one of the seats while they stay in the front, the door between them locked.

“About an hour left,” Merlin coos to him. “Can you hold on that long?”

Harry whimpers, and Merlin accesses the cameras in the plane. The omega is squirming in his seat, drenched in sweat but still buttoned up in his suit. “That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Merlin says. “The mission is over, Harry. Why don’t you take off the jacket?”

Harry starts, like he hadn’t considered that, and sheds the jacket, following it up by popping open several button on his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows in an attempt to fight the waves of heat crashing over him. His trousers are tented, and Merlin knows it’s only a matter of time before the slick soaks through Harry’s pants and stains the fabric.

He wishes this had been a longer mission. If it had been, Merlin would have packed Harry a lovely toy in his kit, and the omega could have used that to hold off the pure _need_ surging through his body. As it is, Merlin’s voice will have to do.

“I’m going to help you take the edge off,” he tells Harry. It’s hard for an omega to come during a heat without an alpha, but it’s not impossible, and it will buy them a little time before Harry fades out of coherency completely. “I want you to take off your trousers for me, alright?” It’s going to be hell, getting slick out of the upholstery, but Merlin doesn’t care. It’s not his job, and right now Harry needs him.

Harry glances towards the cockpit, and Merlin switches channels briefly, checking on the extraction team piloting. “It’s fine, Harry,” he says. “Trust me.” It only takes a few command codes on his keyboard to take control of the locking mechanism. They won’t be able to get to Harry unless Merlin allows it.

Harry relaxes and finally obeys, peeling himself out of his trousers. “I want you to touch yourself,” Merlin says. “Nice, firm strokes, but slow.” Harry shoves his hand down the front of his pants, tipping his head back and letting out a soft moan. Merlin’s eyes flick to his own door, but it’s shut and locked, as usual. Good. He doesn’t want anyone to walk in on this.

“Does that feel good?” Merlin asks, a bit redundantly.

“Can I…” Harry’s words are stuttered, his breath shaky when he asks, “Can I finger myself? Please? I need something inside me.”

“Go ahead.”

Merlin can’t tell how many fingers Harry uses, but given the blissful look that crosses his face, it’s probably more than one and definitely enough to give him the stretched, full feeling he’s chasing. “Better?”

“Not as good as your cock, but it’ll do.” He rocks his hips sharply back against his hand, and Merlin’s cock throbs in his trousers at the image. “Are you watching?”

“I’m always watching.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

He’s not. His cock aches as it fills, responding to the sight of his omega fucking himself on his own fingers, but he doesn’t actually touch it. However, because Harry’s going to need a bit more to push him over the edge and the visual might help, Merlin murmurs, “Yes.”

“Liar,” Harry laughs. “Oh, but it’d be lovely if you were. Hand stuffed down your trousers, barely enough room for it as your cock gets lovely and fat.” He hums and gives a particularly hard thrust down. “You’d have to take it out to stroke it properly; not enough space otherwise.” His words choke off, and he whines, “Darling, talk to me, please.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me about how you’re going to fuck me.”

It’s not Merlin’s general place in bed to be the one speaking. For all the porn that depicts alphas as mouthy, telling omegas to choke on their fat cocks or going on and on about breeding them, Merlin has always been the quieter one in bed between him and Harry. Still, just because he doesn’t usually do it doesn’t mean he’s incapable. “The moment I see you, I’m going to shove you down on the bed. You’re already fucking gagging for it, and one orgasm isn’t going to be enough, not without your alpha there.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “Need my alpha.”

“Once I’ve got you where I want you, I’ll shove right in to the hilt. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’re so desperate that you wouldn’t want me to go slow. You need to be pounded into the mattress, rough and brutal. I’d mount you like a bitch, fill your slutty hole with my come, knot you nice and tight.”

It’s all cliche dialogue, and to Merlin’s ears it sounds kind of terrible, but Harry reacts beautifully, fucking himself more aggressively on his fingers, his head tipped back and his mouth hanging open as he teeters on the edge. He just needs a little push.

“I’ll breed you so well, Harry, fill you with so much come you get you fat with my pups.”

Normally, that line would not work on Harry, and he’d probably punch Merlin for saying it. Now, however, Harry cries out, his back arching, and Merlin can tell the exact moment he comes by the expression on his face. Harry slumps back against the chair, nuzzling his cheek into the upholstery. He’s making little humming sounds, and it’s very endearing.

“Relax, mo chridhe,” Merlin says. “Take a nap. I’ll see you when you touch down.”

Harry makes a sound that’s vaguely affirmative, and Merlin closes out the feed and goes to find Morgana. He’s going to need to take that shot.

Forty-five minutes later finds him pacing the floor of one of the cycle rooms, the adrenaline thrumming through his blood. He’s half-naked, his jumper and button-down folded neatly on the side table, and his skin itches, sore where Morgana gave him the shot and crawling everywhere else as the chemicals work their way through his bloodstream. It takes about an hour for it to work, and he’s not sure how much time he has left until Harry gets here.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opens. Merlin instinctively moves into a defensive position before he recognizes the scent of omega, specifically his omega, sweet and rich like dark chocolate and hazelnuts. Llamrei shoves Harry through the door and shuts it behind him. Merlin vaguely hears the click of the lock, but it’s drowned out by the sudden roaring in his ears.

He catches Harry, who lights up and wraps his arms around Merlin’s neck, kissing him in greeting. “Hello, darling,” he purrs.

“Hello, mo chridhe,” Merlin answers.

Harry’s hands slip from around his neck, going straight for his trousers. He only diverts for a second, squeezing Merlin through them briefly, before he tears them off, undoing the zipper roughly and yanking them and Merlin’s pants to his ankles for him to kick away. “Need you in me, darling.”

Merlin rips at Harry’s clothes. It’d normally be more difficult to get him undressed; bulletproof fabric is also highly resistant to tearing. But Harry’s already ahead of him, stripped down to his pants and yanking them off while Merlin pulls his shirt off, sending buttons scattering. It says a lot about how far gone Harry is that he doesn’t scold Merlin, just flings himself towards the bed and drags his mate with him.

“Fucking get inside me,” Harry hisses at him, turning on his front and arching his hips at Merlin.

Merlin obeys, grabbing Harry’s hips and shoving in without preamble, but once he bottoms out he pauses, tucking his nose into the crook of Harry’s neck and scenting him. He smells like home, and a purr rumbles out of Merlin chest. Harry moans, pressing back against him, and Merlin gets the picture. He withdraws and slams back in.

“Perfect,” Harry sighs, the word coming out in pieces as his voice stutters with every thrust. “So good, darling, such a good alpha. Need your knot, give it to me, please?”

Merlin grinds forward on the next stroke, a little harder and rougher, and Harry whines, “Hamish, please.”

Merlin snarls because he wants to, _dear god does he want to_ , but the shot isn’t working yet, and his knot isn’t swelling, and _shit_ , this isn’t going to work. He slows his thrusts, “Just bear with me, Harry. Be patient for just a few more minutes.”

Harry twists to look at him, his eyes almost comically large and nervous. “Is it not good?” he asks. “Am I not being a good omega?”

“Harry,” Merlin sighs, and pulls out.

It’s the wrong move, because Harry turns on his back and tries to draw him closer, clutching desperately at Merlin’s shoulder, “No, darling, wait, come back, I promise I’ll be good, I’ll make you feel so good, make you want to knot me, just don’t _leave_.”

It ends on a sob, and Merlin immediately shushes him, cuddling Harry to his chest and subtly rubbing his scent against him in an attempt to calm him down. “You’re so good for me, mo chridhe, so good. You aren’t doing anything wrong, you’re being such a good omega. I want to knot you, I promise. I just can’t yet. I need the blockers to leave my system.”

“Oh.” Harry looks embarrassed, and he tucks himself against Merlin, grinding down against his cock. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“For acting like a stupid, hormonal omega.”

“Don't,” Merlin says sharply. “Don't you dare say that. You're not being stupid. You can't fight your body, Harry.” He’s reacting to the pheromones Harry’s giving off, but he’s not in rut, and that makes this a bit awkward. Normally, he doesn’t have to really think about the dynamic shift, the uncomfortable way they get closer to stereotypes when they’re in the throes of their cycles.

Harry bites his lip, and then says, “Do you think you could put it back in, darling? Even if you can’t knot me yet, I need…”

Merlin doesn’t respond, just adjusts their positions so he can slide back inside Harry, who lets out a long sigh, shuddering. “Better?” Merlin asks.

Harry nods. They settle like that for a long while, Harry alternating between relaxing in Merlin’s arms and clenching down around him involuntarily, fighting back the whimpers that bubble up in his throat when Merlin doesn’t move. Merlin gives himself about ten minutes, until he’s absolutely sure this isn’t going to end with Harry unsatisfied and crying, and then murmurs, “Do you want me to knot you like this, or would you like me to mount you? Or you can ride me if you like, but you seem a bit out of it for that.” He’ll always give Harry the choice, and it doesn’t much matter to Merlin one way or another, so long as Harry is happy.

“Mount me, please?” Harry sounds almost _ashamed_ when he says it, and Merlin kisses him sweetly.

He pulls out, guiding Harry gently until he’s on his front, propped up by his elbows, knees spread wide so he can present properly. He doesn’t make Harry wait, just slides in and starts fucking him in long, sharp snaps of his hips, his fingers tight enough against Harry’s skin to leave bruises.

Harry moans. “Just like that. Knot me, darling, I need you to knot me.”

He’s been far more patient than Merlin expected, and he grinds himself harder against Harry on every stroke, grinning in feral satisfaction as his knot begins to swell and catch on Harry’s rim. Harry gasp and shoves backwards to meet him, forcing himself against Merlin, trying to get his knot inside. It only takes a few rough, grinding thrusts to get it in, and then it’s swelling to full size, locking them together, and Harry cries out in satisfaction, coming untouched while Merlin latches onto Harry’s shoulder, careful to avoid the breaking the skin as he bites down, Harry’s body milking as much come as possible from his cock.

Eventually, they settle against the bed again, Harry’s back pressed to Merlin’s front, still tied together. Merlin traces patterns on Harry’s hip, and Harry hums sleepily. “I love you,” Merlin whispers into the back of his neck. “My love, my omega, mo chridhe.”

“I love you too,” Harry murmurs in response. “My darling, my alpha, my world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all! Hope the rest of you had as much fun with the Bottom!Harry Fest as I did.


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